


moontouched loss

by Voidromeda



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Gen, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25673569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidromeda/pseuds/Voidromeda
Summary: She is blessed to have a brother as dedicated, caring, and hardworking as Aphelios. She worries, dearly, for him.
Relationships: Alune & Aphelios (League of Legends)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	moontouched loss

Alune loves her brother, like a sister should. Even when her studies are long and arduous, she always makes time for her brother – her doe-eyed, quiet brother, sociable only when she is by his side, her kind brother. They are nigh on inseparable, until she has to leave for her prayers and studies – for her work, and his as well.

“It is as though your brother is your shadow,” says one of the priestesses, her smile hollow, “you are the moon that casts his shadow, and he will follow you throughout each rise and set.” her brother, present at the time, gives something that can be compared to a smile – the upwards quirk of lips, the twinkle in his eyes as he gazes upon Alune. When Aphelios leaves to do his Moonsworn duty, fingers wrapped in black bandages and gripping practice weapons, the priestess pulls Alune aside and looks at her gravely. “Your brother will drown you, you must not forget. You cannot be by his side forever. Someday, you must part.”

Unthinkingly, she relays that part to Aphelios days later – when they are both in their free times, Aphelios playing with the wrappings around his arms, his newly embedded tattoo shining bright with magic – painting him to be the warrior that he looks not to be. Thin and lithe in comparison to the other warriors, lacking in muscles but quick on his feet.

“The priestesses say that I will not be able to be with you for long, brother.” she says conversationally, distractedly, and Aphelios’ head snaps up, his fingers clenching tightly onto black cloth. “That I will soon set upon a sort of pilgrimage, where we shall be separated. Even if we are not with one another, physically, I will always hold love for you in my heart. I will pray for you.”

He tugs the black cloth back and back, hands shaking until Alune realizes what is happening. She cries out in surprise and dives onto her brother, frail fingers clasping around his wrists to separate his arms – his wrappings unravel like that of peeling skin, reminding her of their leatherworkers hard at work creating clothing made of animal hides.

“Aphelios!” she cries out and he looks through her, black eyes wide as he takes her in. His hands curl into tight fists and he sucks his lower lip in, taking in deep breaths. Upset dances across his face soon enough and he does not speak to her, does not tell her what it is, even as she wraps her arms around him and embraces him tightly.

He breaks out of whatever stupor he finds himself in and rests his hand upon the back of her head, the other settling on her upper back. He holds her close, protectively, scared, curling over her as though he fears her to disappear. “You won’t forget me, will you?” he says in a gentle whisper, his words as soft as fluttering feathers, “you won’t forget me.”

Her hands clutch tightly at the back of his short cape, “I will not, Aphelios. You are all that I have. You’re... my family.”

They hold onto one another for a while, Aphelios unwilling to let go and Alune unsure of what causes her brother such distress. She thinks back to the words of the priestess, and the many others who warn her of such bonds.  _Familial bonds shall haunt you until your dying breath. Even those whom you have abandoned will come scouring for you, mourning you. Your brother loves you dearly, yet you are fleeting._

The moon is endless. Her studies are long. Their times together are shorter and shorter, his training getting more intense the further he gets into it – the other warriors speak of how hard he pushes himself, as though his time is running out. She hears them, of course she does, everything that has to do with Aphelios eventually finds its way to her, even if she does not seek it. People curious of her opinions will ask her what she thinks of her brother’s actions, his dedication.

“I’m grateful for my brother,” she says always, a smile on her face and joy in her voice, “I’m grateful that the Moon has bestowed upon me such a hardworking brother, a brother who loves and protects me. My brother is my world. I am grateful to see him working so hard.”

His outstanding work allows him to promote, quickly and swiftly. Those who are of higher rank than him disappear without a trace, his expression unchanging and his gaze cold. His face softens only when he sees her, when she walks up to him to congratulate him. “I’m so proud of you,” she says softly before embracing him tightly, “you’re amazing, Aphelios.”

She sees him more often after that,  his pleas of letting him simply sit and watch as she conducts rites and practices being heard. He lets her curl her small into his whenever everything proves to be too much, grounding her, keeping her head away from the clouds. Silent when all others are around, speaking only to her in soft tones about how great she is -

“You are far and above all others who practice along with you,” he says sweetly, carefully, “if only they could see you the way I do.”

H ow does her brother see her? She wonders over that for days, all the way leading up to the fallout as those worshipers of the sun stormed in and tore them all apart, where she flees to the temple to finish her duty once and for all. Isolated away from him with nothing but the waning trees outside to give nourishment and her hygiene decaying, she dedicates herself to the moon. Her life not for hers, but for those who need it -

For the Moon, her worshipers, and her brother, no longer doe-eyed.

  
  


  
  


  
  


She loves her brother, as a sister should. She loves him dearly, and he loves her too – perhaps far more than she anticipates. Perhaps far more than she can  ever understand. Perhaps far more than he should, for he brings pain to his innards and chokes his organs, destroying his vocal chords and diaphragm until he can hear her – all other voices drowned, not muted but warbled, with hers the clearest. He thinks things that curl her stomach,  feels intense agony that makes her want to vomit, cries in his dreams when he falls asleep with the potion still working.

He loves her, dearly. And she loves him, as a sister should.


End file.
